Happy St. Paddy’s Day

My corned beef is boiling heavily in a giant stainless steel pot, seasoned with a bottle of brown ale, mustard seeds, garlic and some salt. I prepared the cabbage separately — because only drunken fools boil cabbage for 5 hours with the meat.

The cabbage was seasoned lightly and dropped into a pot with a buttered beef broth, Guinness stout reduction. The potatoes are being boiled and soon after I will add the carrots — because they require less time to boil in order to meet their perfect texture.

Typically I have parties at House Fly, a few dozen people drinking and sloppily eating — cavorting if you will — but we didn’t feel up to it this year. It wasn’t melancholy, but a dispirited mood best quelled with peace and quiet.

Nevertheless, I still have the tunes of Ireland reverberating thought the house — most likely the last year living here. I’ve decided to say goodbye to NJ — and “fuck off” to their exorbitant state taxes. My destination isn’t etched in stone yet, but I’m leaning towards becoming a Southern Gentleman in the Raleigh area of North Carolina.

Raleigh, like most cities and towns in the South, are crime ridden filth holes full of gold tooth thugs and hillbilly rednecks. The thugs have left the big cities that have gang task forces and SWAT teams and have moved to the easy pickings small cities.

In between are the working stiffs oblivious to the pounding their ass will take when they turn down the wrong street.